Briefing the Ghoul

[Vassagon]

The night falls once again over the River City and the glow of lamplight fills the streets. The passage of time has become altered for the young English soldier. Time seems to stretch and distort, offering new perspectives that have gone unnoticed before. The movement of Mortals as they hurry from place to place seems like fish swimming in a circles. But one thing stands out like a stone in a pond, absorbing the ripples and bringing her mind into focus. And that is the waking of the Dark Mistress.

The dull ache grows and festers in her Ghoul body, a craving that eclipses her lust for violence. She longs for the taste of that ichor and the feeling that it gives her, making her whole once more. Unfortunately, her Regnant has yet to call upon Royal to fulfill her purpose and earn the sweet nectar that flows from her veins.

Royal stands outside the subleased apartment that shelters her, turning the key to lock up with a satisfying thunk from the door bolt. She had begun to wear black, much like the stylings of the Mistress. She wears a sleeveless shirt, its middrift cut high to expose her toned waistline. Thin sheer fabric descends over her legs loosely over boycut shorts. And a likewise sheer laced overshirt hangs about her shoulders. She has few possessions that she keeps within a small purse, its strap crossing her chest once the key is returned to its confinement.

She'd never prided herself on her appearance. Josephine had never expressed an interest in Royal's looks. And yet the Ghoul found every conceivable opportunity to try and please her. Her make-up, however, remained mostly spartan.

She takes the bus, having no car of her own, towards the nest of the Dark Mistress. Beneath the foundation of old apartments that have been converted into condos is a stair leading below ground level. Royal steels herself as she raises her hand press the buzzer and then sees the tremors in her own hand. She takes a moment longer, holding her wrist, feeling the temptation to tear into her own flesh if only to regain control over her body. This sort of thing would not do once the battle has begun.

Taking a breath she finds a momentary calm and presses the buzzer to alert the Dark Mistress of her arrival.

[Josephine Sterling]

The moment of awakening was always strange for Josephine. A fading into consciousness from a slumber subsumed in shadowed thoughts and echoes of dream. Fleeting wisps that receded with the setting of the sun and left Josephine suddenly present, lying beneath soft, cool covers with her head nestled comfortably on a pillow. When she had been alive, she had always awoken amidst a tanlge of sheets, her comforter disturbed by a night of turning and writhing in fitful sleep. Now, she merely opened her eyes. Her supine body exactly as she had been when she'd first slid beneath the sheets and lain down. A corpse in bedclothes.

That was the state she was in when she heard her doorbuzzer going off. A glace at the clock beside her bed revealed that her pondering had consumed almost the full half of one hour, and so she merely slipped from her bed and donned a robe before walking out to answer her door. A look through the peephole confirmed who it was, and so Josephine retreated back into her parlor to turn on a few lamps and flood the room with the light that her human pet would need. Then she merely crossed to the door and opened it, pausing to regard Royal's attire with a slight cant to her head.

"What are you wearing?" she finally asked, curiosity rather than recrimination lacing her voice. "Is it for the Nox Populii?"

[Vassagon]

The sight of her is always startling, even having seen it so many times. Her Mistress remains virtually unaltered in her countenance as if preserved forever in memory and form. Her pallid skin makes her seem inhuman but does not diminish from her beauty. An unearthly fervent beauty, at least in Royal's eyes.

Royal's face flushes, her capillaries expanding with the quickening pace of her heart. "I, umm..." she starts, fighting embarrassment. She noticed, and it's what Royal wants. But now that she has, the Ghoul is hesitant to say why. "Should you desire it," she answers finally.

Her eyes examine the rest of Josephine's attire as she stands at the threshold. "Forgive me if I've arrived too soon." She lowers her eyes, preparing herself for admonishment, though her Mistress has yet to raise her voice or scold her. Royal does not wish to imagine displeasing her.

[Josephine Sterling]

For a moment, Josephine's countenance was like a plain of undisturbed snow, cold, white, and still, though then her mouth split open and she began to laugh, the sudden mirth in her eyes intensifying as she saw the hurt blossom across Royal's face.

"Oh, dear Royal," she cooed, reaching forth to cup the flushed cheek with her chilled ivory grasp. "Feel me. Do you sense warmth in my flesh? Can you detect another heartbeat besides your own? I do not feel as you do. What stirs me," she continued, her voice dropping lower as she stepped forward, "is the lust for that river that surges beneath your soft skin. And I would take it from you, enjoy feeling your flesh part on my fangs, but I need you alert tonight. Focus."

A few light slaps against Royal's cheek shattered the moment between them, the impact not stinging, though sharp enough to jar her from her current fantasy.

"Step inside," Josephine ordered, moving away so that her ghoul could enter and the door could be sealed behind her.

"I have tea, if you would care to make it, though nothing else. And use the blanket across the back of the couch. I do not use the heater, so you will likely feel chilled," she advised, leading Royal to her living room, a space filled with hardwood furniture, sumptuous sitting arrangements, and bookshelves packed with expertly organized tomes and small artifacts. One crucifix sat framed by leather bound books, the cross decorated with the form of a man contorted in agony. Across from it sat another statue, a woman standing proud with arms outstretched, an owl sitting upon one arm, a wreath held in her other hand.

Josephine deposited Royal near a couch, which indeed had a wool blanket draped decoratively across its back, and then sunk into a chair.

"Before we begin, tell me, how are you?"

Best to begin with managing any of her servants complaints before she began to demand more from her.

[Vassagon]

How can she focus when the object of her affection stands so close with such comforting words? Royal's hands obey and touch her Mistress daringly, searching for that heartbeat but finding none. Like an animated corpse. If she desires Blood then the offer to take it sits on the tip of her tongue, waiting to be spoken.

'I need you,' echoes in her ears for a moment before the slap connects and Royals adrenaline surges unbidden. She pulls away and her years of training take over like a well-trained dog. Her stance stiffens and her eyes stare forward, heated by a rekindled fire. Right...

The Ghoul steps inside, moving through the mud room into the living space. "Thanks, but I'm fine," she answers, having nourished herself earlier knowing her Mistress requires no common beverage. The chill is present, but Royal desires to show no weakness. She'd been trained for that too despite the goosebumps that manifest on her forearm.

Royal sits where instructed and composes herself before answering. "Troubled, Mistress. I wish to serve you, but when I came to this country I brought no weapons with me. I do have someone in the States that can get me armaments, but I'm still going through interviews with private security firms and don't have a steady income yet. I hope you will be patient with me."

Josephine had asked her to become a harbinger of death and violence. But Royal specialized in firearms to kill with efficiency. It would take a while until she became fully equipped for combat.

[Josephine Sterling]

Josephine's eyes were wide in incredulity, the sclera yawning hugely around the obsidian pits at the center of her gaze.

"You must stop looking for other employment at once," she commanded, her voice stern, though lacking in anger.

Queerly, that expression of surprise remained fixed in place, suspended upon her flesh as though her wax features had not yet been re-sculpted.

"The fault is mine," Josephine continued, the expression finally fading. "I should have been more clear about my expectations, and you duties. You will have time for yourself, of course, but I demand your attention. There will be no risking yourself for another. No answering another's commands. No submission that I do not desire. Is that understood?"

A raven brow arched sharply, and Josephine waiting for her servants confirmation before she continued.

"In return, I shall provide for you. If you desire a salary, I shall provide it for you. If you wish to merely ask for money when you want it, I would also do that, though money is the least of the gifts I will give you. By serving at my side, you will gain insight into a world that few others will ever have the courage to glimpse. You will learn the truth of what walks the night, and you will live far beyond any of your peers, your flesh never changing."

[Vassagon]

"I..." Confusion grips Royal for the moment and her brow furrows as she processes this information. "Of course. I understand," she answers before truly comprehending it. No service to another, no life outside her duty to the Mistress. It makes sense that she should avoid distractions and outside obligations. But it meant that Josephine would be in full command of her financial stability. Another means of control. And yet had she not resigned herself to following this woman at risk of her own life? Had she?

Her features grow calm, knowing that she would be provided for. She should be so lucky.

"Thank you, Mistress. I'm sorry, I didn't want to burden you. This world you're talking about, you said I would be defending innocents against an unknown enemy? Shall my first task be to collect intel?"

The ache for Josephine works through Royal's body like a shiver and her hands tighten until the knuckles grow white to contain it.

[Josephine Sterling]

"I'm pleased that you are so eager," Josephine replied, her lips curling into a smile that was both paternal and predatory. "But no, intelligence will not be your first task. Teambuilding, I believe will be your first priority. A soldier of your calibre requires a squad to support them, and I am building you exactly such a squad. There are other creatures such as myself, you see. Others that do not have a surging river dance inside their veins, nor who can let the sun tenderly kiss their flesh. Others that must siphon life from beneath succulent skin."

Fangs descended from Josephine's gums, her eye teeth lengthening into vicious enamel spikes that were framed so explicitly by her black painted lips. Then the fangs slid back away, hiding amidst the forest of her teeth.

"But there is a reason why you have never known that we exist. A reason why fiction shrouds all knowledge of my kind. That reason is simple: it is safer for us to remain hidden by the dark, and safer for your people to proceed with their lives none the wiser. A mutual coexistence dependent upon ignorance. Yet, just as you gather into societies and governments, so too do we, the Kindred, gather into communities. Our laws protect both of our kinds, though there are those that scorn our laws. Those that reject the necessity of order and instead butcher humans for the sake of their hunger, and which wreak violence upon my community for the sake of their selfish declarations of anarchy. It is for this reason that I need, you Royal. You and the other servants that my allies are gathering. Except you shall lead them. You will be their commander in the fight against these murderous dissidents."

[Vassagon]

There is surprise that flickers across Royal's expression. Knowing that she would be leading a unit is perhaps the most familiar thing about all this. Blood-sucking creatures that avoid the sun and suffer from their own political fallouts are a far cry from the training that made her who she is today.

The enemy are those who would butcher for the sake of hunger. And yet how different is that from Royal's reason to follow Josephine, to sate the lust for battle and selfish pride? That and the promise of reward. Yet she would rather believe it a noble cause to suit her lingering conscience. Fight for the righteous against the anarchists and terrorists. Is that not the service of which she had been deprived in the military?

The appearance of Josephine's fangs are a ready reminder of the Kiss they've shared in. Royal notices now more than ever before the exchanges that have gone on between them, of Blood and Vitae. How long until those fangs once more descend into her? How long until her own lips cover a wound across her flesh?

"I appreciate you think so highly of me, Mistress. I won't let you down. Team-building," echoes Royal, her gaze growing distant as she considers the prospect of leading a team. Her brow furrows at the thought of working alongside other servants. "Alright. I will make sure they are ready for action when I meet them. I don't have a mind for politics among my own kind, but I will trust in your orders to see me through it."

So agreeable when her Mistress holds the key to her gratification. Had she ever been so obedient even among the Royal Marine Commandos?

[Josephine Sterling]

"And well you should," Josephine replied, though her smile had softened, her dark eyes regarding Royal fondly. The meek words, the soft, doting gaze, the adoration, it was all so sweet, as tantalizing and pleasant as the taste of heart warmed blood upon the tongue. Truly, she should have found such a servant long ago and bewitched them with the eldritch draw of that which sat within her own veins, but there was no point in lamenting over the past. What mattered was the future that she was currently paving, the future which Royal would help her build. With steel and devotion.

"Wait a moment," Josephine commanded, rising from her chair and swept from the room, pale dressing gown fluttering with her movements. Then all was still in the room, all leather and rich, polished wood, and the face of a crucified man staring out at Royal from its perch before a hoard of antique tomes. The air was stale. Still. Cool as the depths of an autumn night.

But then Josephine emerged again, a bag held in her hands. She strode over and sank down on the couch, next to Royal, and presented the bag to her.

"Open it," Josephine commanded again, sitting still and patient as a wax statue so that her minion could examine the contents of her gift: an instrument to play deadly melodies upon. It was a simple 9mm pistol, a Glock 19, and several boxes of ammunition.

"This weapon once belonged to a highway patrol officer so take care not to be caught with it," Josephine warned, her expression grave once more. "You may use it as you wish until you are able to procure weapons of your own. Simply tell me what funds you will need and I will provide them for you. Oh, and do not forget to purchase armor for yourself. You are precious to me and I would not have you broken."

Sorry for the delay!